"Get the fuck out of Yuri's body. Now." Zephariel growls. The tattoos and marks on his skin glow like embers from a forest fire.
In contrast to his anger and the thunder of fury he is showing to everybody within the vicinity of five meters, Yuri lies on his feather bed, covered with the soft duvet that Zephariel hand-picked himself, and breathes with peace. Yoru glances from Zephariel to the pale boy on the canopy bed, wondering what could be the reason for the sudden change in the ruler of the Underworld's attitude toward the Supreme Deity of Oblivion. Wasn't he all docile and loving toward him just yesterday, when they both nearly destroyed that good-for-nothing Hanu? Yoru mulls over the shift in the air; the tension between the two is thick enough to slide a knife through it. He stands up, tentatively offers to calm the god down, "Jeez, what are you doing, shouting like that? The count is still asleep ––"
